


Stitch

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e04 The End, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>endverse ficlet. "He can't kiss him, not now. It won't help."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitch

He can’t kiss him, not now; it won’t help.

He lays his palm flat against the long line of Castiel’s white shoulderblade, biting his lip. His skin seems new, somehow, as if he were created spontaneously and placed on earth unmoored, instead of squeezing himself into a human canister, a bottled fucking hurricane.

He’s a hurricane, too, underneath Dean’s hands; twitching uncomfortably, muscle working against his spread fingers, even when Dean mutters, “Cas,” at his ear, to try and calm him down. Castiel makes no noise; doesn’t even flinch, but trembles as Dean puts the needle in, pushes it through his skin to the other side, firmly pulling the wound together.

 He works his way down, zig-zags of black holding Castiel’s ripped flesh closed; he’s unable, in a way, to believe he’s capable of doing it; that Castiel isn’t flowing out through the gaps of his fingers. All there is, is blood, a steady stream running over his bent back from each cut, dribbling in parallel with his spine.

Dean leaves him after sterilizing him; after bandages and tape and questions to which Castiel gives no answer. He won’t speak, doesn’t even thrash like he did when it first happened; when he first lost his wings, the invisible and hulking weight of them gone, destroying the room like a caged animal had been let loose on it, littering the walls and ceiling with great, wide arcs of spattered blood.

Castiel sits with his hunched shoulders, his white bandages, his white skin. His elbows, shaking, on his knees. Head in hands.

They’ve left him a monolith now; a pillar of white with his two, identical, carefully-bandaged scars.

Dean can’t kiss him, even though he wants to; even though now, it’s all he can give.

It won’t help. 


End file.
